A Day in the Life
by Simon920
Summary: A day in the life of Alfred.


Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

**A Day in the Life**

**5:30 AM**

The alarm shrilled in Dick Grayson's room, a mere four hours after he'd managed to get to sleep and he grudgingly and groggily rubbed his eyes while silently cursing the damn thing. He hated getting up when it was still dark. No, hated wasn't enough of a word to describe how he felt about getting up and dressed predawn. He loathed it. He despised it. He abhorred it.

It completely and totally sucked.

Half-awake, he pulled on some workout clothes, stumbled his way down to the gym and put in his required hour and a half. Then a needed shower, breakfast and school. If it was a weekend, he'd have the luxury of staying in bed till maybe seven, followed by the daily ninety minutes in the gym—minimum.

But this was a Tuesday. Nothing special about it, just your run of the mill, nothing special Tuesday. It was October tenth, a nothing day.

Just another day.

Bruce was already working the punching bag when he walked into the main gym, the one upstairs, instead of the one down in the cave. There were some workmen expected in awhile and this would look less suspicious if they came into the house for some reason; Mr. Wayne and his ward in a sweat from a routine workout in the exercise room, nothing out of the ordinary about that. Okay, there would be the usual gossip, but that was just a day in the life, no big deal and nothing they hadn't learned to live with. It just was.

Dick did his usual warm-up, some stretching and a couple of laps to get loose and then approached the side horse, his least favorite piece of apparatus. There was little talk between the two of them. It was to early for conversation and they were both concentrating on what they were doing. This wasn't for pleasure; this was preparation for later; this was work. Dick moved on to the parallels then to the still rings, fifteen minutes on each. Floor work, vault, and finally, as a reward for doing this every day, his favorite, the high bar.

Grip changes, release moves, original stunts and tricks and finally the way he ended every workout; the quad dismount. Giant swings building speed, around and around until the moment was right for the release to catapult his body towards the ceiling, tucking and grabbing his shins to pull himself around faster than the eye could follow. Straightening at the exact split second to position himself for the landing, knees flexed to absorb the impact and the thud of his landing. No hop, no step, arms up with the sound of cheers and applause in his head and he was done for now.

"It's seven, time to hit the shower or you'll be late."

"Okay."

**7:10 AM**

"Master Dick, as we are civilized beings, I must ask that you attempt to ingest your meal less like one of our animal brethren. I assure you that another five seconds won't make a significant difference in your getting to your first class."

"I want to get to the study session before class."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Because…?"

"Because I didn't get a chance to cram for the civics test last night."

"Might I inquire why not?"

"Two-face."

Alfred nodded, of course.

"If you'd said something I would have told you to stay home last night."

"Which is why I didn't tell you. Lighten up, Brucewill'ya? I'll ace it—I always ace them. You know that; 'just want to be on the safe side." The young master was smiling, holding in a laugh as he grabbed an apple from the centerpiece. "You ready, Alf?"

Alfred nodded and held out his hand in invitation to Dick to head out. Soon, within a year or so the boy would be able to drive himself to school, but for now the old man privately enjoyed the time they had together alone. He was so different than Bruce was; they were both intelligent, of course, but Dick was also simply entertaining, always seeing the positive side of things—a remarkable feat when one considered how much sadness and loss he'd endured in the last few years. Laughing, making bad jokes or original observations about the people and things in their lives, he was a pleasure to watch grow and one Alfred knew his life would have been significantly poorer without.

He guided the Bentley three miles to Brixton Academy, dropping the boy off in front of the main building. The school did offer a van service for an additional fee, but the Master was concerned about kidnapping and security whenever the lad was involved; an interesting idea when one considered the dangers he'd exposed Dick to every night for the last few years. But then, the Master never was one to explain himself and no one would ever accuse him of being an opened book when it came to his priorities.

So long as Dick remained safe, or as safe as was reasonably possible, then Bruce would be satisfied, though Alfred was privately terrified whenever the boy was out of sight.

**8:35 AM**

Parking the car close to the kitchen door in preparation for a later trip to the butcher, Alfred went in to begin his morning cleaning. Though the Master was more than capable of affording a cleaning crew, he'd stopped in his efforts to retain one years before when Alfred found serious fault with every one he brought into the Manor. This one was too noisy, this one missed the corners, that one never arrived on time, that one had made a botch of the silver and another one had broken three glasses. No, it was easier and less nerve wracking to simply do it himself to ensure that standards were maintained.

He preferred to maintain his own standards, having no one to blame if the Manor should fall short, which it rarely did. With over seventy rooms in the old house, certainly there were some things he allowed to be farmed out to the local firms but the interior of the home, the kitchen and the family living quarters were off-limits to anyone's care but his own.

He made a point of close supervision whenever day help was brought in and brooked no argument as to how things should be done. The few who argued with him seldom returned.

**9:17 AM**

The phone rang while he was vacuuming the main study, though luckily it was loud enough for him to hear over the machine.

"Wayne Residence."

"Hey Alf, I forgot my calculus book and my homework is in it. Could you bring it over?"

"I believe that the Master has commented that you're to live with the consequences of your forgetfulness, if you'll recall."

"Yeah, yeah, I know but could you bring it over? 'Last time, I promise. It's up on my desk. I think."

"This shall, indeed, be the last time, young man and you may count on that." He hung up the receiver and went to get the book. Of course the previous week was supposed to be the 'last time' as well.

Ah well, he needed to do some errands in town anyway.

**11:41 AM**

Alfred was cleaning the kitchen after setting the roast in the homemade marinade he'd spent almost forty-five minutes preparing. Answering the chime of the intercom, he pressed the button, opening the front gate and letting the carpet cleaning company in for their quarterly visit. Outside the grounds crew were mowing the main section of lawn which swept from the main house to the woods, an area of about seven acres and were about to start on the edging before they moved on to the side and back lawns. Over in the conservatory the indoor pool man was vacuuming the tiles at the deep end and a mechanic was checking the pumps and heater in the Jacuzzi.

While the hired help were as good as could be found, Alfred knew they needed to know that he was here and would report to Mister Wayne about which services deserved praise and compliments and which needed to be replaced by some other company. Knowing the old man's importance to the continuation of their contracts, they did what they could to impress him and make sure they were renewed.

The Masters would likely not notice if standards slipped slightly—or even quite a lot, but Alfred would know immediately and that was unacceptable. This was his chosen profession and it would be done as it should be done.

**2:38 PM**

Alfred finished up a few short errands in town and headed back over to Brixton Academy to pick up the young master, parking the Bentley close to the front walk, along with a number of other SUV's filled with bored mothers also on the after school run. Several of them nodded to him as he sat there, book in hand as he waited the ten minutes for the final bell to ring, releasing the students for the day.

A tennis and yoga toned forty-something year old with slightly too obvious blonde highlights came over to his opened driver's side window. "Alfred, I was wondering if Bruce will be coming to our little gathering this weekend. I'm sure his RSVP is in the mail, but I need a head count for the caterers."

"I'm afraid that he mentioned to me how upset he was to have to miss your dinner, Mrs. Polner. He was quite disappointed, but unfortunately he has a previous engagement."

Her face dropped. "Oh dear, and we were counting on him to make up the numbers. You know how difficult it is to find a single man who's presentable. Is there any chance he'll become free?"

"I fear it's unlikely, but I'll be sure to let him know of your disappointment." She smiled a goodbye to him and headed back to her car as Dick climbed in the front seat, against all efforts of Alfred to have him ride in the back.

"Is Bruce dodging her because she's still trying to hook him up with her sister?"

"I assume by 'she', you mean _Mrs_. Polner? So it would seem. How did you fare in you civics examination?"

"Aced it."

**6:33 PM**

Alfred set the two plates in front of the masters. The menu tonight consisted of a starter salad with his homemade French dressing, pork tenderloin with new potatoes, baby peas, mint sauce from a family recipe and homemade chocolate ice cream for dessert. Master Bruce would refuse it of course, disdaining the fats, carbs, calories and indulgence, but Master Dick would eat both bowls.

He was just placing the ice cream on the table when the conversation switched from general talk—the Master insisted that the boy learn how to make social conversation—to business.

"Two Face is still in custody, but I have a report that Joker has been seen around the area. That big King Tut exhibit is getting ready to open in a few days, I think we should take a look and make sure that everything at the museum is secure."

"Okay." Dick's eyes were on the ice cream, something he didn't get all that often when he was in training and he was always in training. It wasn't that the boy was big eater, he wasn't, but when something is as consistently denied as dessert treats routinely were in the house, they became the proverbial forbidden fruit.

"Something else on your mind—other than dinner?"

Dick looked up and caught Alfred's eye and who nodded encouragement. "I was wondering if it would me okay for me to go camping with the Titans this weekend? It's just local, up in the Berkshires. Please?"

Alfred saw Bruce's initial reaction which would be to refuse, insisting that the boy stay home and train or go over evidence or some such. Moving behind Dick's chair, out of the boy's sight, he firmly shook his head at the Master.

Bruce knew when he was over-ruled. "…I don't see why not, so long as you put in a few extra hours next week."

The big smile broke out on Dick's face, the one crowds used to be able to see from the cheap seats. "You got it and thanks!" He twisted in his chair; "Thanks, Alf!"

**7:58 PM**

The dinner ended, homework was finished and the Dynamic Duo headed out in the Batmobile for the evening's patrol. Meanwhile, Alfred cleaned the kitchen and made himself a cup of Earl Grey while he waited for them to return.

It was the same every night they went out. They'd leave and he would be left to wait, worrying until he heard the big engine causing the entire house to slightly vibrate. No one else would notice it, but he was used to the feel and knew it the instant it started. A few moments later he would go down to the cave with a late night snack, usually sandwiches and coffee and hot chocolate. He'd make sure no one needed stitches or other treatment and would finally retire for the night, knowing the two masters were safe again.

And so he waited.

He finished the Gotham Times crossword puzzle, in ink.

He reread the letter from his niece in London, writing a three page response and asking her to come visit when she had a break from school and knowing she wouldn't.

He called Leslie Thompkins to see if she'd like to have dinner then take in the new production of The Tempest which had just opened downtown. They made a date for the weekend, assuming that she could get someone to cover for her at the clinic.

He polished the silver tea service.

He watched the ten o'clock news.

He had another cup of tea.

He made the usual sandwiches and hot chocolate and got the tray ready to take down to the cave when the masters returned.

He tried to read a chapter of the latest John Grisham.

He waited.

**11:27 PM**

He felt the vibrations before he heard the intercom. "Alfred, I need you downstairs."

He moved as fast as he could, knowing there was a problem and that likely someone was injured. Dear God, don't let it be anything serious his time. He hit the cave floor just in time to see Batman lift Robin from the passenger seat and lay him on the gurney, the boy unconscious and blood from his left thigh staining the sheet. "Bullet; went through, 'don't know how much damage."

Little needed to be said; they'd been through this drill too many times to not know what to do. The lights were turned on, the antiseptic spray washed the air, gloved and masked, Alfred bent over the boy's leg to see how serious the injury was this time while Bruce started the saline rip, adding the antibiotics to stem any blood poisoning—or worse.

Yes, the bullet went through, but they needed an X-ray to make sure the bone wasn't chipped or that no fragments remained to cause infection and later problems.

No. It looked clean, but there was so much blood—could the femoral been nicked?

Applying pressure, the blood slowed to a slow seepage; better.

No, it seemed that the artery wasn't damaged though the bullet could only have missed by fractions.

The boy groaned as the anesthetic and his own shock started to wear off. "Add this to the drip." Bruce did as told without question as Alfred finished a few stitches and closed the double wound again both in front and behind his leg several inches above the knee

with Dick now fully sedated again.

"That should do it for now but I want Leslie to check him in the morning." Alfred looked up; almost two hours had gone by while he operated, cleaned the wounds and finished up with his repairs. Dick had been moved up to his own room via the elevator, placed in his own bed and would wake in the morning in pain but in familiar surroundings.

Bruce was about to open the door to the cave's secret entrance when Alfred stopped him, "Were you planning on telling me how this happened?"

"We had just finished for the night and were headed back to the Batmobile when I heard a sound from the alley behind us; Joker. He said something to Dick to get his attention. I tried to push him out of the way—I'd seen light glint off the barrel of his magnum, but I was a fraction too late and Joker clipped his leg."

"And?"

"And that's about it. I was going to go after him, but saw how badly Dick was bleeding so I brought him here instead of giving chase. "

Alfred gave him one of his inscrutable looks. "I take it Mister Joker is still at large."

"I'll get him later, I'm going out again." Just like that, matter of fact, straightforward.

"I see. I'll make sure the young master is comfortable, then."

Bruce just nodded; of course Alfred would stand watch to make sure the boy was comfortable and had everything he needed. It was what he did.

**2:02 AM**

Alfred let himself back into Dick's room, a small reading lamp beside the bed the only light. The boy's drug induced sleep was what he needed the most now, giving his body a chance to make the initial repairs and let him get the rest he needed. Later, around seven or so, Alfred would call the school with some excuse for Dick's absence for a few days.

Something that would explain his having to be on crutches for a week or two, something plausible…he'd think of something. He always did.

He leaned back in the large easy chair, propping his legs up on the hassock after checking Dick's pulse and temperature. He was slightly feverish and seemed to be having some bad dreams; not surprising, all things considered. When Dick muttered or seemed restless he'd speak gently to the boy, stroke his hand or cheek until he quieted again.

He'd recover. He'd likely be up and about too soon, if the past was any guide but then he never was one to lie about when he could be moving.

They'd been lucky tonight, dodged the proverbial bullet—or almost dodged it at any rate.

Alfred had the usual thoughts which always filled his mind when these things happened, which they did too often, or so it seemed.

If he'd taken a firmer hand with Bruce when his parents were murdered, then perhaps none of this would have happened. If he'd gotten the boy to the right psychiatrists and psychologists, then perhaps his life would have been easier resolved.

If he'd refused to help, to enable the boy when he'd grown to manhood, simply put his foot down and refused to help, refused to let Bruce follow the insanity he was insistent on.

If he'd called the police, the Justice League, Interpol and said that he believed Batman to be seriously disturbed and not to be trusted with the public good, perhaps…

If he'd refused, flatly refused to allow Dick to be raised in the Manor, under the proverbial wing of Batman.

If he'd put his foot down and forbidden a nine-year old boy to be allowed to pursue hardened criminals nightly; it was insanity.

If he'd declared that the injuries were unacceptable, after the first broken bones, first fifty stitches, the first bullet wounds…

If he had refused to act as doctor, nurse, tailor, cook, chauffeur, simply let Bruce cope on his own. But then he'd have forged on until he was forced to stop, or killed, which could well still happen.

If he'd packed his bags and left, taking the boy with him to a safer home away from the path he was being drawn into following…

If he'd allowed Dick to have normal friends, do normal things, engage in the usual after school activities, sports, girlfriends or encouraged him to keep in closer contact with his blood family he might have gone another way.

If, after seeing how Bruce was descending into a deeper and deeper obsession, he'd insisted the master seek help, find another outlet to channel some of his rage…

If he'd insisted that Bruce make it seem less like a big game of cops and robbers to the boy, perhaps he wouldn't be laying here, sedated after surgery for yet another bullet invading his body. If only this wasn't just another battle scar he knew the lad would be secretly proud of…

If he's just said no.

But he hadn't.

Every night he was there with the after patrol snacks, making sure that they were back in one piece, unharmed. He made sure their uniforms were clean and mended, that the car was washed and gassed up. He saw to it that the excuses were made when either of the masters was called out of yet another commitment to chase yet another criminal.

Dick stirred again, muttering and thrashing his legs enough to dislodge the covers, Alfred getting up to replace them "There, there, all's well, nothing to trouble yourself about, young sir. Back to sleep with you, now."

He sat back in his chair as Dick quieted and glanced at the clock. 6:45. In a little while, maybe half an hour, he'd called the school and let them know that Dick Grayson wouldn't be in because he had a…well, he had badly sprained his leg last evening and was under doctor's orders to stay off it for a few days. Yes, that would work. He'd drive over to get the boy's assignments for the week and make sure that they were finished on time and delivered to the office.

Light was starting to come through the tall windows, letting Alfred see the boy's room, typical of the genre. There were clothes tossed on a chair and spilling onto the floor, a computer game console with a stack of games spilling from a shelf. Shoes and sneakers poked out from under the bed, the walk-in closet door was opened, the floor a mess of sports equipment and heaven knew what else. Posters of rock bands covered the walls, sharing space with a large framed promotional poster advertising the Flying Graysons, a photo of the family, in costume, was sitting on the bureau.

It would have been enough for any kid in the world, except this one. Bruce had said from the first few days that Dick was exceptional, that he would excel in whatever he tried.

And he was right.

He heard Dick stirring again and looked over, the boy's eyes were opened and when he saw Alfred he smiled. "Sorry about last night, Alf, I slipped."

"Happens to the best of us, do you think you may be up to some food? Perhaps something light, under the circumstances."

"Sure, 'sounds good, thanks."

Alfred nodded and started to leave. "Hey Alf? I hope you weren't worried or anything."

He shook his head. " You know me better than that, Master Dick, I have every confidence in you and Master Bruce. 'Always have, always will."

9/28/08


End file.
